


Adrenaline shot

by orphan_account



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Don't Like Don't Read, Ellis centric, Ellis is kinda fucked up in this one, Keith n dave are only mentioned, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Orgasms, Mentions of Suicide, Not Beta Read, Open Ending, Sorry Not Sorry, actually it's all about losing your own life, is that even a tag?, mentions of drug abuse, the other survivors don't play a main role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The fear of dying everyday, the adrenaline of fighting for his own life, the euphoria of getting to live a day more. It made him feel so alive.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Adrenaline shot

**Author's Note:**

> I am truly sorry lol
> 
> Idk why I wrote this.
> 
> Well, if y'all going to read please know that english it's not my first language.
> 
> Also, If you have any constructive criticism or feedback, please leave a comment! I look forward to improve myself! ^=^

It's an addiction, something he can't get enough of. 

Adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

In Ellis’ life, adrenaline wasn’t something he lacked. Maybe this is why he was still friends with Keith, not that it was the only reason, obviously. He really liked his buddy, but everything got better with some almost lethal incident, of those that made people rethink their whole life.  
Sometimes he felt bad about feeling good. But those accidents -and okay, some weren’t really accidents- made him feel alive. 

Oh, so so alive. 

He kinda felt bad that they -and occasionally Dave, when he wasn’t being a pussy- hurt themselves, even if to be honest it just added that something, that thing that made everything even more dangerous.

This is probably why, all things considered, “The Green Flu” was the best thing that ever happened to him. 

The fear of dying everyday, the adrenaline of fighting for his own life, the euphoria of getting to live a day more. It made him feel so alive.

He liked the other survivors, he really did, but fuck. They were kinda ruining everything. Safety in numbers, but safety was the last thing he wanted. To solve this little inconvenient he chose to dare himself. Try to keep them all alive.

Every time he saved one of them, that close to death… God. That feeling was just amazing. 

He’s ashamed to admit that in more than one occasion he put them all in danger on purpose. Make an alarm go off, throw a molotov a little too close, notice a special and wait for it to strike… the list was long. He even put himself in danger, obviously. Not fighting the hold of a smoker's tongue until he started seeing white spots dancing in front of his eyes, for example. Letting a hunter jump on him, feeling adrenaline in an actual struggle for his life. “Accidentally” startling a witch. Let a boomer puke on him -even if admittedly, it was disgusting- only to attract more zombies. Dodging a spitter’s acid. Let a charger, well, charge, and dodging it at the last second. Getting too close to a tank. It probably didn’t help that special infected seemed attracted to him or something.

The thing he’s more ashamed of? The adrenaline was worth it.

Sometimes he finds random shots of actual liquid adrenaline lying around, and he knows he shouldn’t use ‘em if not in extreme situations. He uses them anyway. Always in secret, and while it doesn’t feel as good as the natural, he still uses it. He feels bad when someone in the team actually needs it -mostly Coach, the man couldn’t run as fast as the others, so using that syringe helped him flee from the hordes twice as fast- but he really can’t help it.

He’s sure that if the others knew that he was putting them all in danger just to feel good he’d be shot or kicked out of the team. Which to be honest just fueled his already bad habits. Keeping secrets, especially this big was a little source of fear and euphoria. 

He was so fucked.

It took him a while to find what probably was one of the best ways to feed his little addiction. He never fully realized how pointing a weapon at another human being, something that wasn’t just imitating life but had one of its own, would feel. He had the power to end their lives.

All of those little “accidents” before never aimed at killing the other survivors. Injure them, incapacitate them, but they never held murderous intent. But as he took aim through his rifle, he knows that with only a pull of his trigger he could end them. God, the sole thought sent shivers down his spine.

He looked through the scope, and the cross passed every survivor. He had the high ground, on duty of covering for them while they took down the big of the horde. His finger lingered on the trigger. 

Rochelle, Nick and Coach. 

He shoots. 

The bullet goes through the head of a zombie a few feet behind them.

He can feel his own pulse raising, his breath getting caught every time he takes aim. He keeps on shooting, admittedly letting some of the infected get too close, but none of the team noticed. 

When the attack is finally over he lets out a shaky breath. His fingers are trembling, he can feel his heart in his ears. He’s sure his pupils are dilated.

He grasps the rifle with more force, then stands up, giving a thumbs up and a smile to the other survivors. He is really glad his coveralls are this large and don’t absorb fluids, otherwise it might be awkward to explain why is pants have a big stain on them.

Rochelle motions him to get down with a tired smile on her face, while Nick lightly kicks one of the infected’s body to check if it moves or not, and Coach is wiping some sweat off his forehead. 

Ellis gets down from the balcony he was shooting from, right onto the roof off a school bus and then onto the ground. 

“Good job, sweetheart. I didn’t see the one coming from the left, you’re a real lifesaver” God he wants to laugh so bad, but instead he gives one of his trademark grins.

“ ‘on’t worry Ro, I gotchu’r back” Ellis never wanted to be a liar, but he didn’t want to be kicked out of the group either.

“Okay everybody, let’s find the next safe house.” Coach said, his big hand patting Ellis’ shoulder.

They start moving, and he ears Nick mutter a “I guess you did a good job, Overalls.” It kinda makes him feel guilty, after all the conman rarely complimented the southern boy, and in this occasion it just left a bitter taste in Ellis’ mouth. 

The boy smiles, fixing his hat. He hates himself so much.

To distract his thoughts and lighten his own mood he starts telling another one of his stories, ignoring the annoyed groan from Nick and the roll that Coach’s eyes make. 

They arrive at the safe house shortly before night, and after locking the door behind themselves they decide who’s getting first watch. 

“Aah’ll go first” Ellis says, tired but not as much as the others.

“Are you sure, Ellis?” Rochelle is always so nice, Ellis thinks with a small smile.

“Yeah, no probs”

“Thank you, boy. I could go for some sleep right now” Coach said before yawning.

“I’ll take the last watch.” Nick says, promptly leaving the room, probably aiming at one of the old mattresses in the other one.

“I’ll go second then,” Rochelle’s eyes are tired, but she still offers a smile “wake me up after you’re done” she then follows Nick.  
“Goodnight, Ellis” the ex-football player says before retiring in the other room.

The mechanic lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. He sits on the ground near the door, adjusting his pants and boxers. He should probably change those, he feels filthy -more than usual-.

To a lot of people the night gives comfort, but to him is just boredom. Nothing ever happens during his turns, nor during the turns of his comrades. Yes, he occasionally hears a hunter, sometimes the coughing of a smoker, but nothing else.

Nothing tries to enter the safe room, also because not even a tank could destroy the metal door that separates them from the outside world. He briefly wonders what would happen if he opened the door and just wandered off.

No, that would be a terrible idea.

He settles for reading the messages other survivors left on the walls of the room instead. He even chuckles at some of them.

His mind wonders toward all of the bodies they found around, the ones that killed themselves in fear of being actually eaten, choosing a quick death instead of what fate -and zombies- reserved for them. Nick called them “cowards”. Coach prayed for them. Rochelle doesn’t look at them, her eyes always locked with the ground or whatever other object se could land her eyes on.

Ellis loved his life, but he also lived for danger. This is why he kept a revolver with him hidden under his layers of clothing. An old thing, with only one single bullet in it. In those dark moments in which he craved that sensation of danger he played with it. It was almost a routine.

Open the cylinder, check the bullet, make the cylinder spin and close it. Point the barrel on the side of your head, close your eyes and pray.

It never killed him, but it gave such a rush to know he was so close to the point of not return. It truly made him feel indestructible. 

He took the revolver out, observing the metal reflect the light of the moon. The southern opened the cylinder and took out the bullet, looking at it. 

He shudders at the mental image of his gun shooting, he swears he can almost hear the gunshot. 

The boy put the bullet back, giving the cylinder a spin before closing it. He doesn’t know in which slot the bullet is. This could be his last shot.

He closes his eyes and points the gun at his own head. 

Pure adrenaline goes through him.

Will his teammate miss him? Will they hear the shot and try to find a good reason for him to have shot himself? What will they think of him? 

His thoughts are racing and his heart his pumping. He can feel his arm tremble, while shivers run down his spine. It’s difficult to breath, and he bites his bottom lip to stop himself from hyperventilating.

He feels like a junkie trying to find his next fix. 

The boy presses his thumb on the hammer of the gun, and it's quiet click makes his heart jump. He presses the gun slightly harder against his temple, moving the hat a little higher on his head. 

Ellis swallows, and his trembling index goes to its place on the trigger. He lightly thinks that his heart could explode by how fast its beating.

The mechanic flexed his finger. This could kill him. This is what he was looking for, right? The fear, the thrill, the reminder that he was alive.

Ellis was hungry for adrenaline, and he would do anything to satisfy his hunger.

Even if it killed him, it would’ve been worth it.

He pulls the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Owo what's this? A really fucked up fanfic?
> 
> Idk leave a kudos or a comment if you liked this train wreck of a story


End file.
